Capturing the Viscount (Rakes and Roses Book 1)

by Win Hollows

  Laura had begun to suspect what this man had in mind, but she still didn’t quite believe it. She wanted to hear him admit it. “And what, precisely, would you be wanting in return for this…care?”

  He blinked. “The-the pleasure of your company, of course.”

  The sofa creaked as Laura stood abruptly, almost knocking Lord Norris backwards. She rounded the back of the sofa, needing space between them. He rose to his feet as well. She had his measure now, and found she had a perverse desire to force his dishonorable intentions out of him. “Oh! So walks in the park, playing the pianoforte for you, accompanying you on equestrian excursions, that sort of thing?” She smiled sweetly and kept her face carefully blank.

  Lord Norris slumped, and he ran a hand through his hair, looking anywhere but at Laura. “Those things are nice, yes,” he allowed. “I…it would be more of….” He spluttered, gesturing randomly with his hands.

  Laura relished his floundering and did nothing to interrupt his attempts at explaining.

  Finally, he sighed, letting his hands fall to his sides. He walked towards Laura, who backed away until she hit the wall behind the sofa. He didn’t seem menacing; she just didn’t want to be anywhere near this cretin. However, he kept coming further into her personal space, and she began to grow nervous.

  Stopping mere inches from her person, he reached up and hesitantly stroked a finger down her cheek.

  Laura’s breathing grew rapid. “Sir, you are impertinent,” she stated firmly.

  She couldn’t help but compare this man with Rem, who had shown a great amount of impertinence where she was concerned. But Rem had made her feel…free. Wonderful. Drowning in heady, new sensations. With this man, she felt only contempt. His nearness was worrisome instead of exhilarating.

  His lips turned up at the corners. “Impertinence is rather a matter of perspective. Since you’re already damaged goods, it doesn’t really matter, does it?” He said softly, his breath fanning her face.

  Laura’s eyes narrowed. “I am not damaged goods,” she hissed.

  “No to me, you’re not,” he insisted. “Although I would have liked to have sampled you first, I don’t mind if Rothstone got there first. Maybe he taught you a thing or two.” He smiled knowingly.

  Her blood boiled, and the hand at her side shook with the urge to slap him. “No, you imbecile,” she spat. “No one has ‘gotten there first,’ as you put it.” She met his eyes defiantly. Laura didn’t particularly care if this buffoon knew the truth, but she was tired of people assuming that that horrid gossip column was true. It was the principle of it, even if she was ruined in the eyes of society.

  He leaned back. “You mean- You’re not? That is, you’re still a-a virgin?” He eyes were wide.

  Laura cleared her throat. “Not that it’s any of your business, but yes, I am.” She expected him to then back away or withdraw his offer, but he did neither.

  His expression grew puzzled and then calculating as he re-evaluated her. “Well, this is even better than I expected,” he mused, his eyes scanning her from head to toe. “No one will believe I’m the only one to sample your…favors.”

  Laura drew herself up and stepped toward him, her nose almost touching his. “You’re quite right, sir. No one will believe it.” Her words grew in volume. “Because you will never ever have access to my favors or any other part of me, you-you snake!”

  “Now, now, Laura,” he said cajolingly, running his hand up the outside of her arm. “Being my mistress wouldn’t be so bad.” He shifted his head so that his mouth was near her ear. “You’d enjoy it,” he murmured, coming back to look into her eyes in what she was sure he thought was a reassuring expression. But all she saw was good old-fashioned lechery.

  She had had enough. “Get your hands off me,” she said in a deadly quiet voice. “Now.”

  He didn’t move his hand from her arm. “Laura, be reasonable. You can’t-“

  She was done trying to talk to this man. She had thought that perhaps she would be able to reason through the situation with him, or at least to make him feel ashamed, but that wasn’t happening. She shoved at his chest. “I can do whatever I want, and what I want is for you to get out of my house and never show your face here again.” She pointed to the door.

  Apparently, her words weren’t clear enough because he didn’t move. He seemed to be trying to formulate a new strategy, his face going through several expressions at once.

  Laura grew tired of waiting and tired of controlling her revulsion while he was so near. “I said, OUT!” she yelled into his face.

  “Laura? What on earth-?” Astoria Parrington rushed into the room at her shout, proving she had been waiting not far outside the room the entire time.

  Lord Norris’ eyes widened, and he hurriedly grabbed his hat from the nearby tea table, scrambling from the room without bothering to greet Lady Parrington on the way out. The front door was heard slamming a moment later.

  Astoria turned to Laura and raised her hands in a gesture of confusion. “What was that about?” Her tone indicated both exasperation and displeasure.

  Laura’s adrenaline had subsided somewhat. She took a few gulps of air into her lungs, her shoulders high, but after a moment, she crumpled.

  “Oh, Mama, this is a disaster!” she cried, putting her face in her hands.

  Astoria came around the back of the sofa where Laura stood leaning against it. She took her daughter in her arms, who was now almost the same height. “Shhh,” she murmured, patting her hair. “What happened, Dear?”

  “He…He-“ she tried to get out between sobs. “He asked me to be his mistress,” she blurted.

  Her mother gasped and let go of Laura. “He wouldn’t dare! Not my daughter! Roland!” she raged. And without another word, she stomped out of the room, presumably to find Lord Parrington.

  Laura slumped her shoulders and sniffed, alone again. She sighed. Where was there to go from here?

  As it turned out, however, her conversation with Lord Norris wasn’t even the most troubling event to occur that day. About half an hour after Norris had departed, an envelope with Laura’s name on it was delivered via messenger. Cranston brought it into the drawing room, where Laura was sulking on the sofa, asking if she was accepting correspondence presently, considering the fact that she hadn’t bothered to even look at anything for the past week.

  She sighed, taking the envelope. “I might as well. Thank you, Cranston,” she said glumly. Opening the message, which wasn’t sealed with any crest or wax, contained a single sheet of foolscap that read:

  I know what you did the night of the Rothstone ball. Destroy it, or there will be consequences.

  Laura, not expecting anything particularly interesting, didn’t immediately register the words. She read it several times, blinking.

  “What in the world-?” she blurted, turning it over to see if she had missed anything. But no, it was a single half-sheet of foolscap with the one line, written in a hand she didn’t recognize. To what was this person referring? The night of the Rothstone ball. Had someone witnessed the kiss she had shared with Rem? She thought about it, but that didn’t quite make sense. She couldn’t “destroy it.” She supposed she could destroy the relationship, but that had already been done quite thoroughly for her. She thought back to that night. What else…?

  Her camera.

  It had to be. She had been taking a photograph with her Dag that night. Someone besides Rem must have seen it. But why would they care so greatly? What harm was there in her equipment to someone else? Yes, the device was, technically, illegal. Perhaps the original owner of the camera wanted it back? She had purchased it from a gypsy, and they were notorious for stealing their merchandise. In all honesty, she had figured as much from the start. But they didn’t want it back, did they? They wanted her to destroy it. What point was there in that?

  “…Or there will be consequences.”

  Why was her camera so important to someone that it was worth threatening her life?


  A shiver went down her spine. Laura pulled her trusted cashmere shawl tighter around her shoulders, wondering what to do. She had never received a threat before, but she assumed the prickling on the back of her neck and the increase in her heartbeat was warranted. Her mind flashed back to the last time when she had felt something similar, and then things began to take shape. She thought back to the events of the past several weeks, her eyes darting back and forth, not taking in the blue and cream striped wallpaper or the small portrait of her father as a child sitting with his dogs.

  The balloon crash. The Honeymoore murders. And before that, the bullet that had grazed her arm in Hyde Park.

  Could it all have been for her?

  Laura frowned and shook her head to clear it. No. It couldn’t be. Could it?

  She, personally, didn’t have anything truly valuable except her camera. All her other wealth was tied to the Earldom. But there wasn’t any logic in having it destroyed. What problem would that solve for whomever had sent the note?

  Greed. Simple competition. That had to be it. The Daguerreotype camera was patented so that only one man could be licensed to use it in England. Laura had read that, in other countries, people had opened portrait studios in cities such as Paris, Rome, New York City, and Bohemia. The patents were not observed in such places, and Laura’s photographs wouldn’t be considered suspicious or valuable anywhere else. Indeed, you could even purchase photographic prints of The Pyramids of Giza and St. Peter’s Basilica in shops on Bond street here in London, so they weren’t exactly rare. However, the ability to take photographs of anything one chose here in London was still, unfortunately, illegal. If anyone were to see the photographs she had taken of herself, there would be trouble. If Laura’s Dag was such a threat, there must be someone planning to open a studio here in England.

  The current holder of the patent. That had to be who sent the note.

  Laura wished she knew how to get in contact with them, to reassure them that she had no intention of stealing any of their future business. How could she, even if she wanted? She couldn’t just run an illegal portrait studio out of her drawing room. And her family was already quite wealthy. She didn’t need to make money at such an endeavor. Surely, whoever was so concerned would realize that.

  Laura didn’t want to tell her parents. Although her father was indulgent where her hobbies were concerned, she knew that if they knew of this note, both of her parents would immediately toss her Dag out onto the nearest street corner in hopes that whoever was threatening her would relent.

  What she needed was to think clearly, to figure out what to do. She had always done her best thinking out of doors, in the forests and fields of Parrington Estate. Here, she was constantly surrounded by noises, people, busy-ness. There was no room to think, to exist in her own space. Even the townhouse she now occupied wasn’t a place of solace- not like the countryside. She looked around the elegant drawing room, remembering the events that had taken place here. Callers, eager to impress, showering her with compliments. Rem, waltzing in and pretending to have not met her.

  Rem. He would know what to do. He would keep her safe, figure out a way for Laura to keep her camera without further danger.

  But no. She couldn’t drag Rem into this, for so many reasons. Pride, she admitted, was near the top of the list. The fact that she was currently rumored to be with child- his child- was another. She couldn’t have any contact with him while people thought that. It would only further cement her status as a ruined woman.

  Not that she could sink much farther, she thought wryly. Being asked to be someone’s mistress was about a low as someone of her status could go.

  Laura moaned in frustration, twisting the fringe of her shawl. How had everything become such a mess?

  “Mrrrow,” Reginald answered, asking for permission to jump into her lap. Laura wasn’t surprised she hadn’t heard him approach, as he frequently snuck up on members of the family. She patted her legs, and the tubby ball of fire leapt into the cocoon of her thighs, purring as he kneaded. She supposed she should stop him from pushing his claws into her seafoam silk day-dress, but didn’t quite care enough to dislodge him. Clothes had never been high on her priority list, but lately, she didn’t give a fig whether she walked around in decent attire or not. She might as well walk around in her shift, since everyone thought her to be a tart.

  Laura sighed. If only she’d done something to actually earn that reputation. However, she felt falling out of the sky and casting her accounts over dead bodies wasn’t the sort of fun that one should have to pay for. Apparently, the rest of the world disagreed.

  The next morning, Gia, Harry, and Grayson Fennimore showed up, determined to bring Laura out of her doldrums. Although she wasn’t in the mood to entertain, she wasn’t in the mood to brood anymore either, so she welcomed them into the house, suggesting they go into the back garden for some sun since it happened to be a rare sunny day.

  For the first little while, Harry fascinated them all with his expertise regarding butterflies. He pointed out several species to them and even taught them how to set up a butterfly feeder with leftover fruits their chef had put in the refuse bag. They put their makeshift feeder near a bench that lined one of the walkways, the gentlemen seating the ladies to wait for the results of their efforts. After fifteen minutes or so, however, it became apparent that they would have to be in this for the long game, as only 2 butterflies had discovered the fruit so far.

  Laura’s mood had improved as her pores soaked up the sun’s warm rays. It was almost impossible to be gloomy when the sun was shining and butterflies danced nearby. Her companions’ chatter about everything except her situation helped as well, although she knew it was a concentrated effort on their part. Still, her enjoyment of their company was genuine, and she soon became animated in the conversation while relishing the warmth of the sun on her lower arms and face. She had purposefully worn her lilac lace dress with the short form-fitting sleeves and low rounded neckline so that more of her skin could feel the sun’s radiance, even though she knew it wasn’t fashionable to develop freckles. What could it hurt at this point?

  “Miss Parrington,” Grayson turned to where she sat on the bench with Gia. “Would you care to take a turn about the garden?” he asked, smiling his calm smile.

  She grinned in return, thanking God there was still someone who wanted her company. “I’d enjoy that. Do you mind?” she asked Gia, who sat with her head back, eyes closed beside her.

  “Not at all,” she said airily, waving her hand, but Laura could see a smile tug at the corners of her mouth.

  She took Grayson’s proffered arm while he held an overripe peach in the other hand, letting him lead her through the small maze of walkways that comprised her family’s flower garden. Despite her affinity for solitary country life, Laura had missed some of the attention she had garnered while in London. It was certainly nice to know that there were gentlemen who still admired her in a respectable manner, who hadn’t ceased in their affection since the malicious gossip had become public.

  “How have you been faring?” he asked, and Laura immediately knew to what he was referring.

  “Well, I suppose there are worse things in life than being offered the position of someone’s mistress,” she said baldly. She didn’t see any point in mincing words.

  He winced, his step pausing for the briefest of moments and looked down at her through dark lashes, his grey eyes silver in the sunlight. “I am truly sorry you have had to endure such indecent proposals.” His tone became rougher, vehement, a departure from his usual calm. “You don’t deserve such treatment.”

  Laura tilted her head up to look at him, watching his jaw harden. He really did seem to care, and it made her insides warm unexpectedly.

  Taking out a small, jeweled gentlemen’s knife, he sliced a sliver of peach from the fragrant fruit and set it on the arm of their bench as a curious yellow butterfly fluttered closer. They both tracked its whimsical flight pattern, watching as it sett
led on the bright chunk of fruit and meeting the other’s eyes fleetingly in satisfaction. “Laura,” he paused, turning to face her. His eyes caressed her face, and he reached up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her hair comb. “I had hoped…that is-“ He was as flustered as Laura had ever seen him. He took her hands and began again slowly. “I know your season here has not been all you’d hoped it would be. I know you have been ill-used by both Rothstone and society- but your value- the person you are- has not diminished in my eyes in the slightest.”

  Laura blushed.

  “You must be reeling from the events of the last few weeks, but I would like to provide…an option for you, one that might perhaps be desirable.”

  Her heart began to thump.

  He cleared his throat. “I would like to make you my wife, Laura. I have desired this for some time now, and would be honored to have you as my bride.” He spoke more quickly now that he had got going. “I don’t have a title like Rothstone, or a Dukedom, but I do have an extensive country estate that I believe you could be quite happy at, if you would consent to marry me. My only wish is to make you happy. To take you away from all of this and be in your company. To-to have a family someday,” he finished, his cheeks flushing.

  Laura gulped. She had not been prepared to give an answer to this sort of question from him. It wasn’t that she hadn’t expected it- she rather had, or she had before the scandal broke. But she had never come to any sort of conclusion about what she would say if he asked.

  Yet now he had- and she had to answer.